


With an Iron Fist

by stuffthatbard



Series: stuffthatbard Prompt Fills [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Bathing/Washing, Coming Untouched, Dirty Talk, Extreme Insertion, Fisting, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Coital Cuddling, Praise Kink, belly bulge, but mostly praise, teeny tiny bit of humiliation at the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:13:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27572884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuffthatbard/pseuds/stuffthatbard
Summary: Jaskier gets fisted within an inch of his life. That's it. That's the fic.written for the prompt:"Geralt and Jaskier are chatting about the biggest dick they have had and Jaskier doesn’t believe Geralt has taken a dragon’s dick. 'It was bigger than my forearm, Jaskier.' Cue Jaskier getting fisted but clear to Geralt’s elbow."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: stuffthatbard Prompt Fills [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2007007
Comments: 14
Kudos: 266





	With an Iron Fist

**Author's Note:**

> This got surprisingly soft at the end. Enjoy!

“Bollocks!” Jaskier snorted, taking another swig of Toussaintois wine. They’d received it for a contract—well, Geralt had received it, but Jaskier had helped and thus claimed half the bottle—and were unwinding in their shared inn room for the night.

“Deny it all you like, bard, but it’s the truth,” Geralt snorted, grabbing the bottle and pouring himself more.

“I simply can’t believe that. You said bigger than your forearm,” Jaskier said, pointing accusingly. “You can’t even—the human body simply isn’t—how would it even be possible?” He sat back in his chair, looking as smug as if he’d won their argument.

Geralt gave him a flat look. “Preparation. Plenty of lubricant.”

Jaskier blushed. “Well, yes, I suppose that would be necessary, but—what I mean, is—”

“How does it fit?” Geralt finished dryly. “Not without effort.”

Jaskier blushed harder. “Prove it,” he said, regretting it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Prove it? What did he even mean by that?

Geralt looked him up and down, then jerked his head towards the bed. “Strip and lie down.”

Jaskier sputtered. “I—you can’t—Geralt, that’s—”

“Is that a no?” Geralt asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“No,” Jaskier muttered, and stood up, yanking off his doublet and chemise.

“Slower,” Geralt suggested, giving what might be called a _leer._ “Take your time. Relax.”

Jaskier huffed, but was unable to deny that the thought made him a little hot under the collar. He toyed with the string holding his trousers and underclothes up, pulling them down his body slowly, feeling a bit ridiculous as he did so. Geralt, though, was clearly enjoying the view, if the way he sat back in his chair and palmed at his growing erection was any indication.

Once he was naked, he made his way over to the bed, then hesitated, unsure how Geralt wanted him.

“Hands and knees,” Geralt ordered, as if sensing his uncertainty. Jaskier climbed onto the bed, feeling a bit ridiculous and exposed. He felt a hand press between his shoulder blades, urging him to lower his chest until it was touching the bedspread. If he thought the previous position had been exposing, this one was even worse. It gave him the chance to bury his burning face in a pillow, though, which he was grateful for.

“Relax,” Geralt said again, rubbing his hand up and down Jaskier’s back like he might Roach when she was skittish. As ridiculous as the thought was, it did calm him down a bit. “There we go.”

Then the hand retreated, and Jaskier heard Geralt rustling around in his pack, and then the sound of a cork popping out of a bottle. He raised his head, squinting. “Do you just carry that around?” he asked.

“Never know when it might come in handy.” He poured the oil out into his hand, face drawn in concentration, and it was so helplessly cute and hot at the same time, Jaskier had to bury his face in the pillow again.

He started when he felt a slick finger tracing along the cleft of his ass, not entering for now, just petting. Slowly, he felt himself unclench, relaxing into the sensation, and then pushed back into it, wanting it inside him. Geralt chuckled, but obliged.

“Good, Jaskier. Opening up so well for me. So relaxed, that’s it,” Geralt murmured, stroking his walls from the inside, slick and strong. Jaskier moaned, feeling blood fill his cock at the sensation.

“Ready for another?” Geralt asked, teasing a second finger along his crack.

“Give it to me,” Jaskier pleaded.

The second finger sank into him, and Jaskier was starting to feel the stretch, now; it wasn’t quite burning, but he shifted on the bed, restless energy gathering inside. “Ah—just—”

Geralt’s fingers stilled. Jaskier panted through the sensation, rolling his hips back and forth, until he was accustomed to it. “Move,” he demanded.

“Brat,” Geralt said fondly, but started to move again, stroking in and out, in and out, scissoring his fingers when he felt Jaskier was relaxed enough.

He was no blushing virgin, but Geralt’s fingers were so thick compared to a normal man’s, and Jaskier already felt so full. He moaned again, rocking back into Geralt’s touch. He could probably come just from this.

“Think you can take more, bard? Or are you tapping out?” Geralt teased him, crooking his fingers in an absolutely sinful way that took Jaskier’s breath away. His cock pulsed, precome dripping onto the bedspread.

Once he’d recovered his breath, he threw a look back at Geralt, who looked far too smug. “I can take it,” he challenged.

Only to immediately eat his words when another finger slipped inside his loosening hole, driving against his prostate in the same motion. He let out a strangled yell, muffled only slightly by the pillow his face was buried in.

“Shh, unless you want the entire inn to hear you,” Geralt admonished, although his voice was tight with arousal. Clearly he wasn’t as unaffected as he was pretending to be. “I can always gag you if you need help,” he threatened.

The very idea made his cock jump, drooling more precome, but that truly would be too much for tonight. He managed to shake his head, biting back another moan as Geralt relentlessly stroked his prostate. “If you—don’t—stop that, I’ll—”

“What, you’ll come? Then come, Jaskier. Come for me,” Geralt said, driving his fingers with purpose against that spot. Jaskier gasped and came untouched, back arching, spend spattering down onto the sheets. _We’ll need to pay for that,_ Jaskier thought nonsensically, once his orgasm had released him.

All thoughts rapidly left his brain when he realized that Geralt wasn’t stopping, though. He let out a long moan as Geralt’s little finger breached his tight entrance, the stretch painfully good. “Geralt—” he gasped, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Had enough? We’re still not there yet.”

“Nn—nn—”

Geralt’s fingers stilled from where they were relentlessly milking him, giving Jaskier a chance to breathe. “Hey. You alright?”

Jaskier nodded, panting until he felt like he could string two words together. “’M fine. Please. More, I need _more—”_

And then Geralt’s thumb was pushing inside, and Jaskier thought he might _die_ from how good it felt. He felt Geralt’s knuckles pop past his rim, his _entire fist_ suddenly inside of him, and Jaskier screamed, a high, wordless sound, cock twitching as he once again came.

“ _Fuck,_ Jaskier, look at you, taking my fist so well. You’re almost there, look so good, so open for me, fuck,” Geralt praised him. Jaskier whined.

When he finally came back to himself, Geralt had stilled, although his fist was still inside of Jaskier up to the wrist. Jaskier whimpered.

“Back with me?” Geralt asked. Jaskier nodded, beyond words. “Good. You’re doing so well. Do you want me out now? Or,” he said, tone slipping into something dangerously aroused, “do you want to keep going? I won’t stop until my entire forearm is inside of you.”

 _Fuck,_ Geralt sounded so hot when he said things like that. Jaskier gave a full-body shiver, overtired muscles clenching and unclenching. When he felt his rim contract around Geralt’s wrist, he moaned again, throat raw from making so much noise. “Fuck,” he panted.

Geralt slowly started pulling his fist out, but Jaskier hurriedly pressed back against him, hole fluttering to try and keep it inside of him. “No,” he whined. “More. Give me more.”

Geralt huffed out a breath. “Greedy.” But he reached over with his free hand and grabbed the oil, slathering it all the way up to his elbow, until he was practically dripping with it. Jaskier’s mouth watered at the sight.

And then Geralt was pressing in even farther, impossibly farther, stretching his walls wide, pressing against his organs with every thrust. Jaskier couldn’t help himself from letting out little grunts with each movement, little ‘ _ah-ah’_ s spilling uncontrollably from his lips.

He risked a glance downwards at his stomach, and almost came again at the sight—there was a distinct bulge, moving in and out with Geralt’s every move. Fuck, Jaskier could see the outline of Geralt’s _entire hand._ He whimpered.

“So good, Jask, fuck, you’re taking it so well. Almost there,” Geralt coached him, halfway to his elbow. “Fuck. Think you can come again?”

He felt entirely wrung out, cock milked dry, but for some reason, he found himself nodding along. This gloriously full, he would agree to anything Geralt wanted. Geralt rewarded him with another few inches, stretching his hole impossibly wide.

“Fuck. You’ll never be this tight again, gonna keep you so loose and sloppy and open, ready to take my fist whenever. Gonna absolutely wreck your hole,” Geralt said, voice strained. Jaskier whined, starts bursting behind his closed eyelids. Fuck, he was _so full._

Geralt slid home another inch, the final inch, punching another scream out of Jaskier. “Please—please—” he begged, not even knowing what he was begging for, just knowing he needed it like he needed air. He needed to come, or to pass out, or both, he didn’t know—

And then Geralt’s hand was on his cock, wet with oil and come, stroking him furiously, just-this-side of perfect. Jaskier panted, tension building up inside of him, feeling like a coiled spring, and then Geralt’s thumb rubbed under the head of his cock at the same time he thrust his arm, and Jaskier was gone.

He came completely dry, eyes clenched shut, toes curling, body curving in on itself. He sobbed, gasping for air, and then his vision whited out.

He came back to himself some unknowable time later, deliciously sore all over. He whined, keeping his eyes closed, trying to roll himself over.

And then Geralt was there, running a gentle hand through his hair. Jaskier kept his eyes closed. “There you are. How do you feel?” Geralt asked.

“Like I got trampled by a team of horses, then got fucked by them within an inch of my life,” he answered, throat slightly scratchy. Probably from all of the screaming he’d done.

“Here. Drink,” Geralt said, bringing a cup of water to his lips. “Good,” he continued, once Jaskier had drained it, and something about the easy praise made something in his gut burn bright. “I’ve called for a bath, if you want. The hot water should help sore muscles.”

“That sounds wonderful,” he rasped. “As soon as I regain feeling in my legs.”

Geralt laughed, then scooped him up in one easy motion. Jaskier’s eyes flew open at the unexpected motion and he squeaked. “No need. Rest, bard. You did so good.”

Jaskier blushed, burying his face in Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt easily carried him across the room—even after knowing the witcher for so long, his strength still took Jaskier’s breath away at times—and deposited him gently in the bathtub. Jaskier’s muscles instantly relaxed in the steaming hot water, and he sighed happily.

He was more than happy to just lie there, basking in warmth, until he felt strong fingers massaging soap into his scalp. He moaned, and melted even more, if that was even possible. He relaxed into the attention, moving his head where Geralt directed it.

Just as he Geralt was finishing up, a knock sounded at the door. Jaskier opened his eyes, shooting upright, but Geralt pushed him back down with a strong hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got it,” he promised.

Geralt pulled the door open and stepped outside, quickly shutting it behind him. Jaskier could only make out murmurs of whatever they were saying. His curiosity was short-lived, however, when Geralt soon re-entered.

Jaskier’s eyes met his, and to Jaskier’s surprise, he blushed. “We… were rather loud,” Geralt admitted, face pink. A second passed, then two, and then Jaskier burst out laughing.

“Fuck,” he wheezed. “I knew we should have gone with the gag.”

Geralt watched him with a stony face for all of a few seconds before he too cracked a smile. “Next time,” he promised, and fuck if that didn’t send a shiver of anticipation down Jaskier’s spine.

“Next time,” he agreed. “But for now, I want to cuddle my witcher. I’ve earned it.”

Geralt helped him out of the bath and dried him off, ever-attentive in his care of Jaskier, and then lay down with him on top of freshly-changed bed linens. Jaskier was on the verge of falling asleep when Geralt spoke. “We’re tied, then.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve taken a dragon’s dick, and you’ve taken a witcher’s fist. Seems like we’re even.”

Jaskier fell asleep laughing, clinging to his ridiculous witcher. He’d never have it any other way.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at [stuffthatbard](https://stuffthatbard.tumblr.com). I take prompts!


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